I'm an author, journalist and Director of Research for the Flow Genome Project, an organization dedicated to decoding the science of ultimate human performance. My books include "The Rise of Superman," “Abundance,” “A Small Furry Prayer,” “West of Jesus," and "The Angle Quickest For Flight." My articles have appeared in over 60 publications, including The New York Times Magazine, Atlantic Monthly, Wired, Forbes, GQ, National Geographic, Popular Science, and Discover. At the heart of my work, and this blog, is a deep interest in the intersection of science, technology and culture, with specific focus on the extreme edges of the discussion—both larger philosophical implications and completely personal applications.

Why Creatives Fail: The Difficulties Of Staying Innovative For An Entire Career

I was lucky enough to come up as a journalist working for the legendary Art Cooper, at GQ. Art was one of the last lions of literary journalism, both an exceptionally keen editor and stylist to his core. Art liked his writers to write. He didn’t just encourage voice—often he demanded it.

I once spent three months writing an article for him in a style that was not my own. I had been long fascinated by the urgent present tense writing of John McPhee, especially as found in “Center Court,” his classic piece on Wimbledon. I thought the piece was great. Art wasn’t so sure.

“Good,” he said, “the piece is good—but where’s that thing you do, that Steven Kotler thing, that’s what this piece needs for great.”

In the early 2000s, I stopped writing for GQ and started working with Wired. I’ll never forget my first assignment for them. I spent over a month living in the deep swamps of Florida, writing a story about the Everglades Restoration Project, which was both the largest public works project in American history and the world’s first terraforming effort. I spent another two months writing the piece. When I turned it in, I was pretty proud. That piece was chockablock with that “Steven Kotler thing.”

My editor read it and got back to me.

“So I read your piece,” he said. “And there’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Well, to be blunt, every goddamn word you wrote.”

Mind you, this took place over a decade into my writing career. I’d written bestselling books. I was known, at least by some, for my personality and voice. But here’s the important part—none of it mattered.

Now, sure, I could have gotten mad and pitched a fit, but it wouldn’t have done any good. GQ was then dominated by the second wave of new journalists—hardcore stylists who wanted their work to sound like literary fiction. Wired was part of the new era. They liked their prose much more straight forward (which was often demanded by their highly technical subject matter), though still incredibly well-written (you could say that GQ wanted style and Wired flair). Either way, if I wanted to keep writing for a living, my job was to make Wired happy.

The Sinclair ZX Spectrum over an issue of Wired magazine. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In other words, my job was no longer to do that “Steven Kotler thing.” It was instead to write the very best Wired article I could—to be creative by their rules and not mine.

What’s most important here is that there’s nothing too unusual in this story. I’ve spoken to creatives in nearly every field: filmmakers, dancers, authors, journalists, coders, advertising copy writers, video game designers—this list goes on—and all agree with me. The first portion of one’s career is spent outside the box, developing an individual style (the thing that gets you noticed), while the next—and often far larger—portion of their career is spent being creative inside other people’s boxes.

In fact, I would argue, that the inability to make the transition from the ego-dominated first stage to the ego-subsumed second stage is one of the largest stumbling blocks for anyone trying to actually have a long creative career.

And, for certain, it’s a jarring transition. Not only do you have to check your ego at the door, you often have to completely reinvent your style and voice two or three or four more times.

In my own case, what helped me through the transition was some advice given to me in graduate school by the great novelist John Barth. John told me that if I wanted a long career, I could never have too many arrows in my quiver. What he meant was I should learn how to write in every style possible because, in the end, I was going to need that knowledge. I would argue the same advice is true for every creative, no matter their specialty.

The good news is that all of this will only make you a much stronger creative. Forcing yourself to think inside other people’s boxes is hard work. You literally have to retrain the brain’s pattern recognition system. You have to open yourself to whole new ways of seeing (to borrow John Berger’s phrase). But, in the end, these constraints will actually sharpen your talent—a point well made by brothers Dan and Chip Heath, the bestselling authors of Made to Stick, in the pages of Fast Company:“Don’t think outside the box. Go box shopping. Keep trying on one after another until you find the one that catalyzes your thinking. A good box is like a lane marker on the highway. It’s a constraint that liberates.”

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